Paris & Nicky Hilton

Blurry stills are leaking out from the set of the hotly anticipated -- by people who like to laugh -- Repo! The Genetic Opera, a musical film about hijinks in a world where people's organs are failing like crazy and if you can't keep up with the payments for your replacement parts, a Repo Man comes and fetches 'em out of your body. Doesn't it just already make you want to break into song? It's like Rent combined with a Twilight Zone episode.

Mostly, the only reason anyone is keeping tabs on the movie is because it features Paris Hilton. In a singing part. On purpose. It's allegedly part of her attempt to prove that, like Sears, she has a softer side. A side that actually likes to work hard for the money, so hard for it honey.

[Photo: Splash News]

And yet... doesn't this particular still look less like, "Oh, sweet Paris, she's building a career," than, "Oh, Paris must be making invitations for her next big Halloween party"? This is about what I imagined All Hallows' Eve looks like at her manse: bustiers, wigs, hideous clothing, dry-ice machines desperately belching out ambiance, and of course a pair of muscular naked dudes in harnesses holding parasols. Maybe this movie is more of a documentary than I thought.

[Photo: infdaily.com]

ALEXA VEGA:  Oh my GOD, I can't believe I'm getting photographed with PARIS HILTON. This is so AWESOME.

PARIS: What are you, person? You remind me of something.

ALEXA: My movie Spy Kids?

PARIS: No! Duh -- I hate science. I think it's... you kind of look like Lindsay Lohan rolling out of some dude's hotel room at seven in the morning.

ALEXA: Dammit, it's the stain on my pants, isn't it? I KNEW it was noticeable.

PARIS: No, that just reminds me of the time I puked all over Nicky's Cyndi Lauper costume.

ALEXA: When you were kids?

PARIS: Yeah, like two whole years ago, and she's STILL mad at it, like, whatever, I don't even REMEMBER anything else about that year. She tried to tell me that I didn't need to bring breath mints out with us on Halloween because it wasn't THAT kind of trick-or-treating, and I got so mad at her for killing my buzz.

ALEXA: That's...

PARIS: But THIS year I'm going as Wayne from Wayne's World. But, like, a sexy man-girl Wayne. The kind with BOOBS. This is most of what I'm wearing. Isn't it hott? You want me.

ALEXA: One time I got to...

PARIS: Hey listen, if I cut off one of your braids, could I smoke it?

ALEXA: What? So now you don't like my...

PARIS: I told Larry King I would be good. It's not illegal to inhale if I'm smoking hair, right?

ALEXA: I can't believe you're allowed to wear a wig and a trucker hat, and you're ragging on me for looking like Pippi Longstocking just discovered the 80s floor at Polly Esther's.

PARIS: Longstocking? What's that, like a body condom?

ALEXA: I'm beginning to think I've made a huge mistake.

Last night, I was chatting with a friend about Jessica Simpson -- namely that she seems to be heading for several decades of Sunset Boulevard-esque decline (sorry, Jess. It just seems possible. Maybe you should buy a monkey and accept it). But now that I think about it, Paris Hilton seems to be embracing her inner Norma Desmond as well:

Albeit in what seems to be an incredibly cheerful way. And she, of course, has already gone to the trouble of buying a monkey -- which then, of course, attacked her and later was confiscated by the state, although it appears from this photo that they eventually returned him to her so she could make him into a collar for her coat.  PETA is totally going to set Pamela Anderson on her for this, and it's not going to be pretty.

Dear Diary,

What? Just because my sister Nicky had a big fashion show in New York City, and my parents were there, and her boyfriend was there, and it was really important to her, you expect me to just DROP EVERYTHING and GO? This is the VMAs, beeyotch, and I don't know if you HEARD me when I was writing sensitive things about homeless people, Diary, but I was in PRISON FOR A LONG LONG TIME. What's a cougar to do?

What, I can't be a cougar now? Who cares if I'm not old enough? Since when am I not allowed to be fashionable? Demi Moore and Kim Cattrall are, like, all up in the young ass right now and everyone LOVES IT. So I figure, if I dress like a desperate matron, I'm IN. I can look 40! For real! See? Dina Lohan WISHES she looked this old and Up For Anything! That Shia Le Boeuf seems like he's in the market for an older woman to teach him the ways of a lady. He doesn't have to know I'm not that much further along than he is.

God, you're such a spoil-sport, Diary. Did Nicky put you up to this? She's so boring. I'm totally throwing you away.

BOOO,
Paris

As alternately ordinary and twee as I find Amanda Bynes' clothing line -- note to Steve & Barry's: If it looks like everything costs under $20, then it automatically takes the novelty out of your pricing plan -- I will say this for her: She didn't paint her face all over everything and then expect you to pay for the privilege of having her eyes staring out from the vicinity of your nipples.

I guarantee you these vain little babies cost more than $20 (the shirts, I mean, but possibly also the girl). The Warholian number behind Paris's right shoulder is a deliciously conceited treat, as is the one that entreats you to "LUV THYSELF," as long as you don't do it enough to buy a shirt that's properly spelled. But the Main Event is my favorite. It's like she's depicting herself behind bars in a prison run by Victoria's Secret. Yep, held captive by her own indomitable sex appeal -- that's our Paris.

Although, is it just me, or does she look a wee bit haggard? Maybe she was up all night crying her eyes out when she realized her flippy new 'do is just a poor, shaggy clone of Posh's coif, and therefore David Beckham would never be likely to get them confused and accidentally take Paris home for a night of muscular passion. But chin up, Paris; iit's just as well. See, you don't want to cross Victoria Beckham, or you'll end up learning the hard way how many different torturous uses there are for a press-on nail.

[Photo: Splash News]

Dear Diary,

IT TOTALLY WORKED. That whole prison thing? GENIUS. Everyone should do it. Although I don't want them to, because then EVERYONE will be as adored as I am... but if they DO, they'll all be copying me, so maybe that's okay, too. But seriously, prison was a total epitome for me, Diary. For one thing, it expanded my vocabulation -- Bitchmaster Nunchucks taught me "epitome" while we were in the yard one day writing poems about homeless people. It means... shoot, I forget. Something to do with having a big realization. Or, wait, was it something about pretty mouths? I get confused sometimes with all the stuff I learned.

ANYWAY, I got out and everyone loves me now. Larry King said my diaries that I wrote in my cell were "unbelievable," or something, and a million people -- maybe even FIVE million -- lined up to come see my clothing line at Kitson, and I've stopped hanging out with toxic people (although sometimes THEY still hang around ME; I can't control THEIR free will, Diary. I learned THAT while I was meditating over a bologna sandwich). And now I go around tickling babies under their chins and giving them wisdom, like, "Kid, I hope you're wearing diapers under those shorts in case you're getting out of a cab and they ride up," or "Never let anyone photograph you eating ever again," and "Don't act like a total whore to your best friend who is just innocent and loving and then try to make up for the cameras and then get pregnant during your former BFF's time of need IN PRISON and act all sainted and shit when everyone knows you're just a HUNGRY COW HAG," and "Always wear as much shiny gold stuff as you can." That last one is my philosophy now. In fact, I wish I hadn't worn this bathing suit and sarong -- I call them "shirt and skirt" but Second Maid snorted at me and told me to use their real names, so whatever, FINE -- or else I could wear them to the VMAs. I totally would. I am hot.

Also, that Adrian Grenadine dude from Entourage has started letting himself be seen with me in public, for some documentary he's shooting about... I think it's about awesome hotties that people love. That might even be the title. But you know what's unfair? I'll show you what's unfair.

I'll say this for Paris Hilton: she may be a spoiled jailbird with an unbelievable sense of entitlement, but at least the girl knows how to make an entrance:

[Photo: Splash News]

No Amanda Bynes-like skulking into a Steve + Barry's in a hoodie for her, oh no. (Confidential to Amanda Bynes: sorry for all the grief lately. I actually really find you adorable and charming.  But apparently your clothing line enrages me in a kind of irrational way.  Just stick to movies where you talk Colin Firth into wearing leather pants.) No, Paris arrives places (ie: Kitson) to promote her clothing line (oy) in an armored vehicle  dressed like the offspring of a mermaid and an Old Navy coin purse.  She's so SHINY and sparkly and obvious, wearing what Las Vegas would look like if it were a dress, that, in a way, I have to hand it to her for, at least, not being totally boring. And then put my sunglasses on, because if the sun hits her the wrong way, we're all going to be blinded.

Karma is a bitch. So is Paris Hilton. So it only makes sense that the two would crash together, with unspeakably awesome results. There is NOTHING more fantastic than Kathy Hilton ranting about how much they spent, NOTHING as satisfying the long arm of the law finally reaching out and choking somebody with no redeeming qualities, and NOTHING as awesome as imagining Paris having to sleep on an uncomfortable cot underneath a burly, hygienically challenged, tattooed, pierced, and lightly mustachioed cell mate named Bertha. Today, even if it feels kind of bad for flashing its bitchpants, the world is full of glee. VICTORY IN OUR TIME.

[Photo courtesy of Daily Celeb.]

Poor P. Pooooooooooooor little P. Prison clothes don't come in leopard, sweet pea. And you probably won't get to use all that makeup, either, but it's just as well, because it makes you look like a wax figurine. As for Josh, don't worry -- he disappeared before your hearing, although I'm sure that was PURE coincidence. But just as a tip for the future, girlie, sometimes guys get sick of dating girls who just can't seem to remember to stop drinking and driving.

Also, seriously, DON'T DRINK AND DRIVE. For real. And don't then keep driving without a license. How hard is that to remember? Maybe you can sweet-talk Bertha into tattooing it to your arm.

At any rate, refill all your prescriptions, Men of Hollywood, and leave no ointment or salve behind. Paris has a month left before 45 days in the clink, and you know she will spend it throwing as many bratwursts onto the grill as she possibly can.

GOOD NEWS! Paris Hilton's designed a line of clothing for Steve Madden.*  This is going to be perfect for all those times where you're standing in front of your closet, getting ready to go out and wishing you had something that was just a little more fame-whorey.

It will not surprise you that Paris has her finger firmly on the pulse of What a Girl Wants, and what we all want -- this part MAY surprise you -- are very tight, shiny white pants:

I hate to say it, but P Hilt kind of works these. I mean, she's really REALLY shiny all over the place here -- like some kind of Lame Lovers Barbie -- but she's looked worse.  The thing is, Paris Hilton also weighs like 100 pounds. Most women would put on shiny shiny white tight pants and things would go seriously awry. There would be frowns, and tears, and people asking if they're supposed to be able to see their reflection in your ass. It's like these pants are part of Paris's evil plan to take over the world by sending every other woman within the Los Angeles county limits to the sanitarium for one reason or another (eating disorders, sex-tape-related shame spirals, nervous breakdowns precipitated by her stealing your boyfriend). And we must fight her on it. Please, readers, do not bow to Paris's will and buy her pants.  We must stop her.

*GOODER NEWS. We've been informed by the nice people at Steve Madden that Paris has NOT designed anything for Steve-o. Steve Madden merely provided the shoes herein.

Dear Nicky Hilton,

You're in the front row at L.A. Fashion Week, and you're related to that drippy suckmaggot Paris -- she who blithely did her makeup in the middle of a Max Azria show in September -- so we shouldn't be surprised that you have a short attention span yourself.

And we were even willing to give you the benefit of the doubt that, mid-show, you were merely idly clutching your BlackBerry because you didn't have anything else to do with that hand -- perhaps Brandon Davis was on your other side, for instance, and you were trying not to catch anything via accidental contact. That's certainly completely understandable.

But then we saw another photo.